


Tongue On Your Pulse

by LunaStories



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Denial of Feelings, Dorian has fangs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Protective The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Scent Kink, Shameless flirting from The Iron Bull, Sick Character, Sweet The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Vampire Dorian Pavus, a little bit, basically the blood ritual from Dorian's father changed him to need blood, blood magic gone wrong, but one-sided it's just Dorian being grumpy, kind of, on Dorian's end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29551623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStories/pseuds/LunaStories
Summary: Dorian's been parched lately, unable to quench his thirst no matter how much water he drinks. They soon learn that his father may have accidentally changed him in ways they don't understand, and that the only way to whet Dorian's new appetite is with The Iron Bull's blood.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Tongue On Your Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick piece I wrote to practice writing these two! I really love this ship so I'm dipping my toe into it. 
> 
> This one's unbeta-ed but I looked over it so I hope you guys enjoy!

Dorian hadn’t realized how often he pressed a hand to his throat till The Iron Bull commented on it like the beast with no tact that he was. 

“Sore throat there, Vint? Rough night?” Iron Bull’s words were amused, a smirk on his lips that Dorian could feel even without looking at him. 

Dorian sniffed, clearing his throat pointedly as he moved his horse a little closer to the front, away from Iron Bull’s prying words. The Inquisitor sent him a concerned look, but when he didn’t comment, she went back to her conversation with Varric. They were all as relaxed as they could be for a team of trained combatants. This mission was meant to be rather simple, a quick clearing of some wolf packs that were threatening the livelihood of the local farmers in the Hinterlands. 

“Aw come on, Dorian. Don’t be like that.” Iron Bull called out, and Dorian made the mistake of looking back at him, just in time to see the devious crinkle of his eye. There was a scent that had been bothering him all day, something that made his mouth water and his throat more parched than it already was. He grabbed his waterskin and took a long drag from it, scowling when the soothing sensation from the rush of water only lasted for a few seconds before dying down to the now-familiar burn in his throat.

Carefully, he let his horse slow down until he was beside Iron Bull, sending the qunari a scathing glare. His throat tightened as the scent grew stronger, and it was a struggle to keep his voice similar to his usual dulcet tones, instead of the gravelly croak it wanted to be. “I don’t see how it is any of _your_ business what I get up to in the darker hours. Stick to studying the Qun and those barmaids of yours.”

The Iron Bull grinned, a bit too salacious for Dorian’s taste and he could feel his ears burning at the intense look Iron Bull leveled him with. “I take care of what is mine,” he nodded his head at Dorian, gesturing to his throat, “clearly whoever did that, does not.” 

“I’m not anyone’s,” Dorian hissed, prickly and annoyed by Iron Bull’s assumptions, “and no one did this to me.”

“Huh,” The Iron Bull gave him a once over before he tilted his head, concern in the press of his thin lips. The Ben-Hassrath agent could probably tell who he slept with and exactly what positions Dorian preferred with just a look. It was clear that Iron Bull knew he wasn’t lying. “That’s surprising. Coming down with a cold then?”

“As I said,” Dorian replied, his ruffled feathers settling now that The Iron Bull was no longer poking at him, “It is no business of yours. Focus on the mission and we’ll be fine, Iron Bull.” 

The Iron Bull grunted, and Dorian took that as an agreement with his words. They didn’t have to like each other, and even after months with the Inquisition, Dorian still felt a bit leery being near the massive qunari. What they did have to do though, was to be able to trust that the other would have their back in a fight. Regardless of Dorian’s ill-advised attraction to Iron Bull, and the qunari’s insistent attempts at flirtation, he refused to get involved with him out of principle. Dorian had standards after all, and a filthy mercenary who spent more of his time in the bar than in the bath was not his usual preference. 

He ignored the part of him, deep down, that whispered his _usual_ preference was willing and large enough to push him down and take him. The Iron Bull had that in spades. He’d heard the tales the barmaids shared, giggling stories of conquest and how delightful of a lover The Iron Bull was. 

Dorian did not want that at all. He was not pent up, and he was definitely not curious as to how well he could ride the Bull—

He cut off that thought with a well timed tap on his horse, pushing it into a trot as his cheeks burned. He ignored the stare drilling into the back of his head, The Iron Bull observing him like he was a dragon he wanted to conquer.

Vishante kaffas, he needed to get laid. 

xxxxxx

_“Haven’t you noticed anything strange? Perhaps you feel a thirst that can not be quenched? I can help you with that Dorian, just come back with us.”_

Dorian rode ahead of the silent group behind him, stare resolutely forward and back stiff as he kept his mouth shut. Part of it was because he had nothing to say after the bizarre and humiliating encounter with his father, but mostly it was because he was literally too parched to speak. His mouth felt dry, and all he could remember was his vision narrowing on the hypnotizing drip-drop of blood from his father’s palm as he’d given himself a shallow cut in a last ditch attempt to show Dorian something. To prove a point to him. 

He still didn’t know what it was his father wanted to show him, because all it took was the barest hint of blood and The Iron Bull had hustled their entire group out of the Gull and Lantern like there were a pack of blood mages nipping at their ankles. Which, considering Magister Halward Pavus’ desperate attempts to get Dorian back to Tevinter, there might have been some hiding in bushes. 

Luckily, they got out of there with minimal trouble, and it was only after they were some distance away from the Gull and Lantern that Dorian realized the Inquisitor had been calling his name for a while. 

“Dorian, is everything alright?” Her eyes were concerned, but they were not just focused on him. Part of her worry seemed to be on The Iron Bull as well, taking in how he was practically hovering over Dorian. He was resolutely ignoring the qunari, but he felt magnanimous enough to answer Trevelyan’s question.

“I’m fine,” his voice was hoarse, and it not only threw him off but also deepened the furrow in Trevelyan’s brows. “I really am. It was…interesting seeing my father again. And I’m sure he had something nefarious planned with that little stunt of his.” 

“Do you know what he was trying to do?” The Iron Bull cut in. 

Dorian sighed, looking at the dark night sky for answers as he forced himself to face The Iron Bull, wrinkling his nose when the scent of him only made his throat feel tighter. “Not exactly, but blood is never a good sign, now is it?” 

He didn’t want to discuss the attempts to change him with blood magic that had cropped up in the argument he’d had with his father. He didn’t need to, because he knew part of Iron Bull’s overprotectiveness stemmed from that knowledge. They’d been loud enough, and Iron Bull had likely been keeping an eye on things anyways considering the utterly coincidental timing of him barging in right when his father cut his hand. 

“Not for nothing, Sparkles, but those who use blood magic aren’t usually all there in the head. They get addicted to it. I’ve seen it happen, they grow hungry with power and then they start taking blood, whether you’re willing or not.” 

Varric had a point, and that was likely why his father had used those who owed him favors and some poor slaves for the ritual. They hadn’t succeeded, at least he was relatively sure they hadn’t as he still very much wanted to put his mouth on Iron Bull’s—

Anyways, he can confidently say they did not, in fact, succeed in changing him to fit their needs for breeding a better line of Magisters. However, there was one thing that worried him. 

“What about those who had blood magic used on them?” 

Their party grew quiet at that, tense. Varric shrugged, a little lost as he glanced over at Dorian. “Well, usually they don’t live to tell the tale. Possessed by demons or used as a vessel for something else. It never ends well.”

“I see,” Dorian felt his eyes prickle, the vague sensation of fear and anger taking over him as he breathed in a shaky breath. The taste of petrichor, balm oil and iron filled his mouth and he immediately closed it, hand flying to his mouth as he felt drool pool. His watering eyes darted over to The Iron Bull, enough to take in the inquisitive look in his face before he groaned, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

“Dorian?” The Inquisitor asked, alarmed as he panted, his vision tunneling. 

“I think I might—” 

That was the last thing he said before everything went dark. 

xxxxxx

“So, the healers say you need more iron in you,” a pause, “I would be more than happy to volunteer my services and put some special Iron Bu—”

“Maker’s breath, did it have to be you?” Dorian groaned, head pounding as he threw an arm over his eyes. It was just his luck that he woke up, disoriented and with his last memory of being on a horse, and the only person at his bedside was The Iron Bull. He looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings of his room and relaxed just a little, though he was still annoyed The Iron Bull was here. He’d probably been the one to carry Dorian here too, the brute. He ignored the part of him that was slightly disappointed he’d been unconscious for that, it would have definitely been an impressive show of strength.

“Who else would it be?” Iron Bull responded, voice gruff but amused as he carefully helped Dorian sit up. “Here, drink some of this.”

Dorian let Iron Bull manhandle him just this once, but he almost spit the drink all over him when he tasted a concoction that reminded him of rotting bodies. “Are you trying to poison me?!” Dorian spluttered, slapping a weak hand on Iron Bull’s broad chest and twisting his head away when Iron Bull pressed the cup more insistently against his lips. 

“Healer’s orders,” The Iron Bull claimed, even as he grinned with teeth, the sadistic bastard probably enjoying his suffering. “Turns out you’re what they call anemic. Not enough blood in that tight little body of yours so you need to supplement with herbal remedies. Also lots of sugar and meat.” 

There was another pause and before The Iron Bull could open his awful mouth, Dorian drawled out, “And let me guess, you have some meat you can feed me to help me grow big and strong?” 

His tone was much more sarcastic than suggestive but the leer Iron Bull sent him still made him flush with regret at his words. There was no winning with The Iron Bull, it was like poking a sleeping bear half the time and every conversation was an opportunity for innuendo. 

“That’s the spirit!” The Iron Bull chuckled, and if Dorian wasn’t so weak the brutish qunari would probably slap his back. “There’s some fire left in you yet. Now let’s make sure you keep that up by drinking your medicine and healing up. There’s something in this to help you sleep too.” Iron Bull pressed the cup back to Dorian’s lips and this time he only let out a small mewl of protest before reluctantly gulping down the sludge. “Skyhold would be boring without your offended glares to keep me going. I can only bother Krem so much before he decides stabbing me in my sleep is a fun past time.” 

Dorian mumbled something insulting and probably scathing, but he was overtaken by a sudden need for sleep. That medicine certainly worked much faster than he anticipated. “What…was in that…?” 

The Iron Bull gently laid him down, but he barely felt it. All he could taste was the burn of petrichor and the tang of iron in the air, cleansing the medicinal taste from his tongue. He tried to follow it with his mouth, eyes closed and body too tired to resist as Iron Bull tucked him in. 

“As I said, just a little something to make sure you sleep,” Iron Bull answered, pressing a palm to his forehead and ruffling his hair lightly. “Healer said you need to rest to heal, and we both know you won’t stay in a bed unless someone ties you there.” 

“Mm,” Dorian mumbled, a smile on his lips he could barely feel as he responded. “Is that a promise?” 

“It’s a threat,” there was the sensation of thick fingers, blunt and large against his cheeks as they tweaked his mustache, making his nose wrinkle. “Sleep well, little Vint.” 

xxxxxx

“—orian. Dorian!” 

Dorian let out a cry of pain, eyes flying open as he woke up abruptly. He quickly took stock of his situation, eyes watering as he scrabbled at the large hand pulling his head back at an odd angle by his hair. “What—!” 

“Are you back with me?” There was a trace of steel in Iron Bull’s voice that Dorian had never heard used on him, and he couldn’t help the whimper he let out as he froze where he was perched in Iron Bull’s lap. 

“Yes?” Dorian’s voice went higher at the end, turning it into more of a question than a true answer. He was panting, and he could feel what seemed like drool running down his chin. He was sitting in Bull’s lap with one of those large hands holding him down by his hips and the other hand keeping him anchored in his hair. “What is this?” 

There was silence for a few moments more, only broken by Dorian’s pants that sounded more like sobs and the eerie stillness that was The Iron Bull. 

“You’re not a demon are you?” Bull growled, sounding more dangerous than he’d ever heard, a coldness to him that had Dorian tearing up. 

“No, I swear! I don’t know what’s happening. I fell asleep and then, and then—” 

“And then you crawled out of the bed,” Bull interrupted, carefully loosening his hold on Dorian’s hair as he deemed him safe again, “at first I thought you needed something but when I called your name you didn’t answer. You turned to me with these freaky fangs and then climbed onto my lap and tried to bite my neck. Usually I’d be all for that, but I try to keep the blood play to a minimum when one of us is a mage.” 

“Fangs?” Dorian yelped, hands flying up to his teeth as he poked around. True to his words, two of his teeth were sharper than usual, but not enough to hinder his speaking. “What the hell is happening, Bull?” Dorian trembled, held in place now with a gentle arm around his waist and one broad hand settling between his shoulder blades. 

Bull was silent for a moment longer and then he sighed. “I saw this on Seheron. The thing about blood magic is it doesn’t just get you addicted to the power, it gets you hooked on the blood too. The blood mages there would tear into my people with ice and lightning, and then drink from them like savage animals.”

“But I’m not a blood mage,” Dorian protested weakly, eyes searching Bull’s desperately as he placed his hands on his shoulders, gripping tight in an attempt to anchor himself. “I swear I’ve never touched it.” 

“You might not have, but your father made sure you did.” 

Dorian gaped at Bull, taking in his tense form and his serious face before he threw his head back and burst into hysterical laughter. Iron Bull didn’t speak, only supported him silently as he rubbed his back and gave him what little comfort he could. Even as he tried to hold himself together, he could feel the thirst, no, the _hunger_ for blood that he didn’t understand before. He could almost taste The Iron Bull’s pulse in the air, a living thing that he wanted to sip from. 

“You alright?” Bull finally asked, after Dorian grew quiet, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. 

A rough chuckle fell out of him, and he pressed his tongue to the fangs. “Guess dear old dad gave me a parting gift. He changed me, but not in the way he wanted.” 

“I don’t think he truly knew the consequences of playing with blood magic,” Iron Bull voice was a low murmur, clearly trying to be comforting when all Dorian wanted to do was scream and cry. “He was trying to warn you, back in Redcliffe.” 

“Well he was too little too late,” Dorian sniffled, bitter as he swiped a hand across his eyes. “I’m not anemic or sick, I’m just a monster. This isn’t reversible.” 

It wasn’t a question because Dorian already knew the answer. The taint of blood magic, when it went horribly wrong, wasn’t something he could erase. 

“No,” Iron Bull shook his head, a remorseful press of his lips. “You will have to live with this.” 

“And if I don’t drink?” Dorian pressed, desperate for a solution that did not involve him drinking _blood_ from people like every Tevinter monster that the South whispered to their children. 

“You’ll die,” Bull tightened his hands on Dorian, as if the very idea repulsed him. His following words were halting, and Dorian could tell it took a lot for him to say them, “I can help you manage it.”

Dorian pulled back, squinting his tear-swollen eyes at The Iron Bull suspiciously. “How?” 

Bull tilted his thick neck to the side, exposing the pulsing life-blood in him, just underneath the skin, and Dorian wanted to throw up at how strong the desire that consumed him was. “Y—you can’t, I can’t ask this of you.”

“You can, and you will.” Bull’s face was serious now, more serious than he’d ever seen. “Listen, I know how dangerous a mage tainted with blood hunger can be. Your appetite can not be satisfied by a normal human. You’ll drain them dry before you’re full. I’m big enough that you can take from me and it won’t make a difference.” 

“But you hate blood magic,” Dorian protested weakly, resting his forehead on a broad shoulder and pressing his lips longingly onto Iron Bull’s neck. He didn’t miss the shudder Bull couldn’t suppress, and his lips quirked into a tired smirk. 

“This isn’t blood magic,” Iron Bull responded firmly before he shrugged, jostling Dorian a little. He could feel The Iron Bull purposefully relax, as if trying to coax him into agreeing to this. “Besides, I like providing what people need.” 

Dorian blinked, something clicking into place that should have been obvious long ago. He took in their intimate position, the fact that The Iron Bull was still here despite the horrors he’d seen on Seheron, of what blood hungry mages were capable of. “You like giving me what _I_ need,” Dorian whispered, awe and understanding in his voice. 

Bull tensed imperceptibly, but it was enough for Dorian to read every bit of longing and want The Iron Bull harbored in him. “Is that a problem?” 

“No,” Dorian smiled, and this time he let out a breathless laugh. “I think this will work out just fine.” 

“Then come on, Vint,” Bull teased, his fingers pressing gently at the back of Dorian’s neck, guiding him closer to where the tantalizing source of the scent that’s haunted him for weeks and months now, lingered. “Dinner’s served.”

“You’re insufferable,” Dorian grouched, but he closed his eyes and with a moan that sounded like he was putting a very different thing in his mouth, sunk his fangs into Bull’s neck. 

The first taste of the petrichor-iron scent that had followed him and taunted him almost had him coming in his pants. He rocked his hips, and it was clear Bull was on the same page as he guided his movements against the hardness he was straddling. 

“Should’ve known you’d be into this,” Bull chuckled, and Dorian sunk his fangs in deeper in punishment. When all that did was make Bull buck up against him with a loud moan, sending pleasure through both of them, Dorian almost wanted to roll his eyes. He took his fill, his body going languid and almost drunk in relief as he felt more clear-headed and painless than he had in weeks. 

Finally, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, he carefully removed his fangs and licked over the marks until they stopped bleeding. Before he could pull back and speak, Bull grabbed him by the back of his neck and tugged him down into a bruising kiss. By the end of it they were both panting, Dorian shuddering with aftershocks as he licked his lips, taking in the unique taste of Iron Bull’s mouth mixed with the tang of blood. A thumb came up to wipe at his lips, and he let his eyes go half-lidded as he met Bull’s heated gaze and sucked the drop of blood off of it. 

He pulled off with a pop, and they stared at each other, air filled with tension. 

“So are you going to fuck me or…?” 

Dorian yelped when Bull picked him up by his thighs and dumped him onto the bed, towering over him and palming his own hard cock, taking in the decadent way Dorian sprawled out, eyes heated. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dorian smirked, and when Bull met his lips with a growl, surrounding his body with heat and warmth, he knew this would be a very pleasurable partnership. 

He let the scent of petrichor, iron, and the taste of Bull on his tongue fill him, and he’d never felt safer. 

_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all! I made this idea up today and finished writing it in about 2 hours so it's pretty rough but it was really fun playing with their characters. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't heard there's actually an [Adoribull fairytales zine being created right now](https://adoribull-fairytales.tumblr.com/) and I was fortunate enough to be accepted as one of the writers! Please keep an eye out on the tumblr if you're interested in the zine, and if you enjoyed this story please do let me know. First time in new fandoms and ships are always nerve-wracking xD So I hope I did Adoribull justice <3
> 
> If you'd like to see more Adoribull from me I'd be happy to oblige! Thanks for reading. :)


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